Brats
by FireflyBullets
Summary: Before he was a Resistance Commander, he was a recruit, and recruits who irritated their commanding officers got stuck looking after the brats. One shot Fluff I thought up in a sleep-deprived state at 7am. R&R. Set before Ep VII


**A/N:** _Fun fact: I was a Navy brat. I went to childcare on the main Australian Naval base and we ran amok because terrorism wasn't something everyone freaked out about. Malignant youths from the recruit school got the task of watching us during play session or when we went for excursions outside the base. And we gave them hell because the teachers told us to._

XxXxX

Before he was a Commander, he was a fresh recruit.

Recruits who did unnecessary, dangerous patrol sweep maneuvers were punished by having to look after the brats.

It had never been that way with the New Republic fleet, Poe thought as he folded his lanky frame into a too-small chair. Idly, he wondered what the punishment would be if he accidentally broke the chair, or "accidentally" swore in front of the younglings. The others - everyone from recruits to commanders, even the Admiral had said it once - called them the brats. They were children of other Resistance members, raised in the small, cramped younglings' sector while their parents were away on long assignments.

The main nurse, an elderly Togruta called Mar'tek, led the cluster of younglings back inside as Poe stood up. They were barely the height of his waist - he couldn't ever remember being that small, not him. They stopped and stared up at him, their expressions an assortment of awestruck, frightened, curious, and... was that a malicious twinkle in that little girl's eye?

Plastic toys couldn't possibly hurt him, Poe thought. They were so small, all he had to do was give them orders and they would listen. Just like his old squadron in the fleet. This would be the easiest four weeks of punishment he would ever get.

After three days, Poe decided to re-evaluate his tactics. Plastic toys, despite their flimsy appearances, were potentially lethal weapons in the hands of Malicious 4-year-old Alekta, and he would have been better off trying to seduce a Wampa than order six-year-old N'katare and her group about. "Brats" was definitely the right word for them.

On the fourth day, though, Poe witnessed a first - five-year-old Maire ran to greet her father, and after hugging him she became the perfect image of disciplined obedience. As she collected her few things from the storage pockets, packing them neatly into her bag, Poe almost forgot that she had been the ringleader in no less than four food fights, and the destructor-in-chief of a collection of plastic starfighter models, reducing two of them to misshapen plastic lumps with a lighter - he wasn't even sure he wanted to know where that had come from.

"She just misses her mum, that's all," the broad-accented Hosnian told Poe while Maire hugged all her friends - including T'borth Neeka, who she had pushed into the dirt earlier that morning. "I'm on leave now, and Kaide will be back within the week, so we're taking her home for a few months. It should do her good,"

Poe tried to complain to Mar'tek when the younglings' behaviour worsened, but she made the same excuse as Maire's father.

"When's Dad coming home?" Three-year-old Veseer demanded in response, when Poe told him off for drawing on the walls, "I don't like you! I want my Dad!"

Poe was at the end of his tether by the end of the First week. He woke up dreading the idea of having to face the younglings each morning, wondered if he could plead his case to someone, _anyone_ who might listen and sympathise. He had never faced a First Order torture but he was certain it couldn't be worse than babysitting fourteen - no, thirteen - snot-nosed brats.

BB-8 volunteered to join him in the second week, and Poe almost declined before he realised - there were no droids in the younglings' sector, and what was more, BB-8 was an _astromech_ droid. Half of them probably had protocol droids at home, but how many could say they'd seen an astromech droid?

Almost none, it appeared. Poe couldn't help grinning as BB-8 beeped and whistles cheerfully, playing a variation of tag with the younglings. Alekta was the only one who didn't seem excited by the droid's antics, not even when BB-8 tried to pull her into the game. In fact, she slapped BB-8!

Of course, the blow hurt her more than the little droid, but even for Alekta, she was being strangely unsociable.

The magical spell BB-8 cast over them disappeared around the fourth day, but by then Poe had convinced two of his fellow recruits to sit down with them, in their flight jumpsuits, and tell them all about being a pilot. They had both been in dogfights, and relived the stories, e!bellishing here and there and taking away some parts that they deemed too frightening for young children. For two days the younglings fought over who got to be which pilot and starfighters was the main topic of discussion.

But it didn't last.

So he got special permission from Admiral Ackbar, and gave his downsized group of ten a tour of the base. They were amazed when he showed them Jessika's empty hangar, awestruck when he activated the holoprojector in an empty briefing room and showed them an image from the databanks of the First Death Star. He even pointed out where his private quarters were - a cramped room barely big enough for anything more than sleeping, but still a private place to sleep.

For another five days, with the promise of more tours, they behaved. Poe was halfway through his third week and thinking there was an end in sight when fighting among the younglings broke out.

The group was now down to four. There has been a "danger period" and all members had been called off on assignments, but as their missions ended, they returned and collected each child, making Poe's job easier. But with Alekta still the reigning queen, and becoming more aggressive each day, he was running out of ideas.

It took a lot of pleading on his part, but he convinced General Organa to allow them on the landing strip, so he could show them exactly what their parents did for the Resistance. Alekta, Noruk and Farhaveim's parents were all pilots, in the same squadron, too.

He pointed out his own X-wing, told the three listening that he would paint it black and red when he became Commander. The three boys thought it was cool, but Alekta stood back and didn't say a word.

Poe struggled to be friendly with Alekta in his final week, after Ezron and Farhaveim had been collected by their soldier parents and father, respectively. None of his attempts worked.

Then, Noruk's officer mother collected him on Poe's last day, leaving him with Alekta. She was sitting in a corner, playing quietly - well, as quiet as it was possible to be when she was crashing plastic freighter ships together and shouting "die!" at the figurines as she threw them across the room.

Mar'tek relieved him at the end of his shift, before he had a chance to elicit proper response from Alekta that wasn't figurines or starships being thrown at him.

He returned to his drills, determined not to get called out for any trouble so as to avoid any potential punishment. He had, in the end, enjoyed looking after the younglings, despite all the ups and downs of it, really.

It was two weeks after he had returned to training that he was woken by a soft tap on the arm in the middle of the night.

Rolling over, Poe blearily opened his eyes and stared at the small shadow beside his bed. He reached out and flicked the light switch for the bedside lamp, before staring at the small girl.

"Alekta? What are you doing here?"

Alekta seemed almost hurt by the question, and Poe realised her eyes were red, as though she'd been crying.

"I had a bad dream," she told him, "Can I sleep in your bed?"

Poe half-sat up, staring at her. "You're supposed to be in the younglings' sector," he told her, "Or with your parents."

"They're not coming back," she replied, clutching a small, stuffed toy tightly to her chest, her voice breaking on the last word. She stood there before him, taking deep gasps and trying not to cry, blinking furiously, her breaths shaky, and Poe realised that he wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in a blanket and hold onto her tight and promise everything would be alright.

He remembered losing his own mother. She was half the age he had been when that had happened, yet she was forcing herself to be strong. He remembered his own loss of hope, and gazed at her sadly, seeing the same light dying in her tear-filled eyes.

Poe reached out, curling an arm around her waist and pulling her into bed. She scrambled in and cuddled up against him, burying her face in his sleeping shirt, and he felt her tiny body shake with sobs.

"It'll be okay," he murmured, wrapping his other arm around her and tucking his head against hers, "We'll work it out."

As she cried herself to sleep against him, Poe swore to himself that he would do anything it took to make her happy again. It was hard to believe this was the same girl who had refused to co-operate on so many different occasions, and it seemed odd that she was cuddling up to him instead of jabbing a plastic eating utensil into his shin. It was... odd.

"Everything will be okay," he told her softly, kissing her on top of the head, "I promise."

It was a promise he intended to keep.


End file.
